One More Day
by Riseha
Summary: As if this life hadn't been a mistake, it must be dangerous and full of losses too. Damn, being Severus Snape's daughter really, really, sucks. Slightly AU, SI.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE MORE DAY**  
by: Riseha

**Preface**

When you start seeing someone else's face on a total stranger, it's a sure sign that you're in need of medical help. You don't just ignore it and pretend that it's a one-time thing – especially when it kept continuing and you kept seeing this person on complete strangers.

That is how I was conceived, you see.

My father was delusional – to a certain degree – and he thought, for a moment, that the lady was the woman he loved and lost.

Other than the red hair – that was the exact same shade – and green eyes – though Mom's eyes were a shade darker – my mother looked nothing like Lily Evans – unless you counted the number of freckles and their height.

My father – _surprise_ – was Severus Snape, a professor at Hogwarts and the Slytherin Head of House.

My mother, on the other hand, was a Muggle – even to this day, I don't think she knew anything about magic.

That wasn't the most surprising part: did you know that, this world I was born into again, after I'd died, used to be fiction? A series of novel that turned out to be real? That the people existed in an alternate reality?

Yeah... I didn't believe it either. It wasn't until I was five when I started noticing these tiny details. Perhaps my father's magic and wand would've given it away but, somehow, he hid the fact that he was a wizard from my mother whom he married – for the sake of the growing baby, he was a man with honor after all.

I didn't know magic either, not until I shattered Mom's favorite vase. I'd remember that day till I die – and maybe, carry that memory into my next life too – I'd remember the sliver of fear and how my mind was already whirring for a way to blame this on something else – the fear that was dashed away when my father drew his wand for the first time in my presence, muttered something under his breath, and the broken pieces of the vase piecing themselves together, whole as new again.

"Be more careful, next time," I still remembered his voice saying. He didn't sound angry nor did he try to explain how the vase pieced itself together – fantastic, he always gave me the illusion that everything was all right.

I resembled my father more – or perhaps it was the personality I'd always had even in my past life – with our paleness, polite sarcasm, natural aptitude for silence and tendency to fade away into the background. I had a feeling this frustrated my outgoing mother more than she let on, especially the annoyance she felt when I often rejected her offer to bring me to the park or out shopping.

I'd prefer curling up in the small house somewhere and reading or sleeping the day away.

I fared fairly well in school, breezing past tests without needing much effort – neither of my parents realized that I hadn't studied as it was basic kids stuff I had learned in the life before.

Perhaps the reason why I never noticed something was wrong with – how strained – my parents' relationship was because they hid it very well, or perhaps because Dad wasn't around often as he taught year-round at a school. He only came back during the holidays, sometimes but not often enough on weekends, and if my parents argued, I never knew as I was often up in bed by the time he swung by – I'd only see him the next morning.

Now that I knew about magic, I supposed he had cast a Silencing Charm to hid the fact he and his wife were screaming themselves hoarse at one another.

Father was the one who confronted me with a life-changing decision: _choose_.

I do not believe kids at the mere age of six – I might be the only exception to this rule – had any right to choose which parent they _want_ to follow, especially not when they didn't fully understand the situation. But I was not six years old in mind; my mentality was that of a twenty-something adult.

I _knew_ what was good and bad for me – but not necessarily the best.

So, that night, I was led away by my egg-donor of this world, away from the sperm-donor, his last words ringing in my ears: "I'm sorry you were born."

Mother never mentioned it, from the multiple trips she had to make to somewhere, I was sure she was filing for a divorce. Mom was pretty well off – she worked as a Muggle-accountant so she had plenty saved up to raise both of us. We never mentioned Dad – Mom was too grateful to wonder why I never asked and I understood too much to wonder about anything.

His parting words left me doubtless that he wouldn't write to me or visit.

A wizard, indeed.

I didn't see hide nor hair – or even seen his face – of Dad for three years until he came by to visit me in the hospital when I burned down part of the school and was recently expelled.

I didn't care what they said or how badly Mom reacted to what I'd done – they all thought I was a pyromaniac and tried to burn the whole school down just because my schoolmates made a few jibes. I didn't care – all I cared was that Dad visited and I'm a witch.

I, who was used to keeping things hidden, never mentioned anything to Mom – and Dad did say something about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. I was just – happy and aware. My smile as I trotted out of the hospital, fully healed sooner than expected (just after Dad left, _hiding_ his wand beneath his cloak), further supported the theory that I was a _very_troubled and abnormal child.

Mom was at home more often than usual after that incident, leaving me with very little time to play with magic and see what I could do.

I had nothing against her but when she started breathing down my neck, I started avoiding her and frequenting the park.

I guess my relationship with both my parents were horribly strained. Or perhaps not. I was just – distant. Mom couldn't baby me because my twenty-year-old mentality wouldn't allow it. Dad never really bothered with me – he was as distant as I am. His personality did me no good, Mom always assumed – said it out loud when she thought I couldn't hear – I inherited my antisocial nature from my father.

That was not to say my Mom gave up easily: she was someone who'd never leave any ends loose without trying her best – I love her determination. She tried, many times. She phoned her friends for help, for advice and let their kids play with me. Mom had a silver tongue and managed to break through the other parents' worries about my pyromaniac nature – I screwed up.

Mom and the parents brought all of us to an amusement park and told us to toddle off and play.

I wandered off, I did, and never bothered with what had happened to the kids. I was idly vandalizing – well, I call it a brush of creativity – the wall when someone tutted and tapped their foot loudly to catch my attention.

I knew I was supposed to acknowledge said person because there was no one else in the rather secluded area but I ignored whoever it was – until, of course, a small hand grabbed my shoulder.

I turned, lips pressed in a thin line. "Yes?"

The girl frowning – or pouting – down at me was about my age with a lot of bushy brown hair, charcoal colored eyes, and rather large front teeth.

Would it be wrong to say I know her?

Yes. Rather, I know _of_ her. I never knew her, personally, but my grasp on her personality was enough for me to predict what she was going to say.

"You shouldn't be drawing on the walls," said the girl. True to my prediction then. "It's wrong."

"Who are you going to tell?" I wondered mildly.

Her frown faltered. "W-well – why are _you_ here? Didn't you came here to play?"

"What about you?" I inquired.

If possible, her face fell even more. "I did came here to play, but – no one wants to – "

"Why?"

"They say I'm a know-it-all. You think so too, don't you?"

"No. You don't know me, so how can you make such an assumption?"

"That's not true. You're the quiet girl that everyone stares weirdly at." I paused. Wait, we're schoolmates? I didn't know. I suppose the school was too big and we probably passed each other without paying much attention. "We're in the same class – Lilian Fiennes-Snape, right?"

I blinked. "Oh. I don't remember you."

She nodded, I don't think she could look any glummer. "Expected as much. You never talk to anybody but the teachers. I heard the teacher say that you're a... wait, give me a sec, I'm remembering it – uh, yeah, they called you ADD kid or something."

"Uh-huh. I just don't like talking."

"But you're talking now."

"If you need to speak with me, I will respond. Have any of you ever approached me to strike a conversation?"

The girl considered, frowned, and shook her head. I examined the chalk I'd taken from the classroom. It was very short now. I'd need to get a new one. From the class. _Without_ anyone knowing. "See? Not one of you tried to see what sort of person I am. All of you just assume I'm–"

"They're scared of you," the to-be witch blurted out. "They said you looked like a vampire."

"Cool. I wish I was one."

And somehow, the girl sat down next to me and we talked. Just us – two girls who had no other friends, sitting and talking instead of running around and playing.

"My name's Hermione Granger," she said just before her parents led her away.

"I know," I told her.

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_Just trying my hand at SI's, tell me what you think._

_xxx_


	2. Chapter 2

**ONE MORE DAY**  
by: Riseha

**Chapter 1**

It took me six months to accept the fact that I was a baby again. It was no wonder why anyone – normal – would forget their infant years. It was traumatizing, especially since I was an adult trapped in a baby's body. I was changed, bathed and clothed by the woman who had given birth to this body.

Not me.

I pitied Mom, honestly, I do. She went through the pain of giving birth to a child who wasn't particularly attached to her. Oh, no, I didn't hate her. I do care about her, on some level, and I definitely do not want to disappoint her. But I wasn't affectionate; I never reached out for hugs or kisses like ordinary kids my age do.

Even as a baby, I never went to her unless I was hungry. And I never cried.

Never.

Yes, it was frustrating, but I was good at suppressing simmering irritation. Still, as a baby, it was convenient to release stress by throwing a tantrum. To shut me up, Mom showered me with everything I wanted to keep me silent and happy.

I could tell that she loved me very much; even if I reminded her so strongly of her ex-husband whom she married only to uphold her honor and give me a perfect family. Not a family where the dad is absent.

I admire her bravery to try – to try to carve a family with a man whose name she did not know until I was conceived. Mom always spoke of Dad with her voice laced with bitterness. She told me that when she first told him, he ran for it.

I giggled because it was funny, imagining the fearsome Death-Eater Snape running away when told that he was going to be a father. I suppose it was only normal, after all, he never wanted more responsibility when he already has his love's son to protect.

I try not to think about it, but I'm sure that between me and Lily Evans' son, Dad would chose the latter. This I can answer with absolute certainty, so honest and sharp that it hurts.

Life was a blessing, but being born unloved...

No, not unloved.

I have Mom. I'm okay.

**xXx**

And, come to think of it, I have Hermione.

"Lilian!"

I turned, mildly surprised to see Hermione waving enthusiastically at me, grinning so bright her teeth glinted in the sun. She didn't seem to mind the attention people were giving us though. "Oh, good morning, Hermione." I smiled at her. This was something I had learned to please Mom. If someone smiles at you, it is only polite to smile back even if you don't know them. So it's explainable as to why I always smile at random strangers like we're old friends or something. I can come off as friendly or as a freak.

I learned that I like it when Mom's happy with me and when she praises me. There's something about her proud and happy smile that warms my heart. Well, the presents are bonus.

(_Hehe..._)

"Morning! And, um, Lilian?"

"Hm?"

"Can I sit with you in class?"

"Sure."

"During lunch too?"

"...Why not?"

And that was how I made my first friend in this world.

I'd forgotten how easy it was to befriend people. Just smile, say hello and ask them their names. And here I thought I have to ask, "Can we please be friends? I'm very lonely."

Now that's going to sound pathetic. I want kids to befriend me because they genuinely find me interesting or they like me, not out of pity. That's got to be the sorriest excuse to befriend someone, ever.

Hermione doesn't have any other friends, neither do I, but that's OK. We have one another and classes aren't so boring anymore. Even the teachers seemed genuinely surprised when I raised my hand to answer; they just didn't know Hermione was stepping on my foot and would not release me until I answered at least one question.

**xXx**

Our first magical accident happened when we were eight. Well, she's already nine but whatever. I'm going to be nine in two months' time.

We were running late to school.

Ever since we became – best – friends, we always went to school together and walked back home together (most of the way because we lived in different areas). It was stormy, grey clouds rolling in and blocking out the sun completely. It was my favorite weather and I was wide awake in a matter of seconds. The day started off good since Mom made my favorite snack, doughnuts and I was free to pour chocolate all over it.

I like sweet things.

It was the complete opposite for Hermione; she was sluggish and slow to wake on stormy days so it was up to me to wait for her.

She was unexceptionally late. She looked grateful that I had waited though. "If we get in trouble, just make something up and blame it on me," said Hermione, glancing at her wristwatch.

"I wasn't waiting for you. I was enjoying the breeze and totally forgot the time," I retorted.

Hermione scoffed, but she was smiling when I glanced at her. It fell when she chanced another glance at her watch. "I wish I can turn back time," she moaned desperately, eyes squeezed shut in horror. I could understand; even I was full of apprehension at the thought of meeting our discipline teacher who always locked us out for being late and he was particularly famous for dishing punishment that really hurts or humiliating and troublesome (like running twenty laps or push-ups). "Or at least teleport there – "

She shrieked and clutched my arm. I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was that someone had wrenched my arm so forcefully, it popped out of its sockets.

I didn't know what had happened; black spots dotted my vision and all I was aware of is the pain in my right leg. Then Hermione's piercing scream sliced through the air.

From there, my good day turned 180-degrees as I, for the second time, was rushed to the hospital because of a magical accident.

I learned, much later, that I had been splinched. This came from Dad. Apparently, Hermione had attempted Apparition without her awareness and the flesh of my right leg had been torn off and bones were peeking out when the teachers rushed me to the hospital.

Good thing: no detention because even the discipline teacher had been shocked beyond words.

"Can you please," I gritted my teeth over the hiss of pain that threatened to escape when Dad poured Essence of Dittany over my wound. I had been bleeding profusely and I know that Dad had to use lots of magic to wipe the Muggle doctors and teachers' memory to be able to see me so soon. "smooth things over? Hermione doesn't know."

"Did you know that she's like you?"

"She's different," I said carefully, not meeting his eyes when he glanced up. I wouldn't put it past him to use Legilimency on me. "Her parents are dentists, not wizards. You... you are a wizard, you said so... so we're different." I wanted to sound like I was innocently making an honest observation. I read somewhere that Snape no longer used the term 'Mudblood' and no longer had prejudice against them ever since his friendship with Lily Evans was severed. This was a good opportunity to test the waters.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Dad, sounding rather stern and the knot in my chest loosened. "there is no difference between you. She's Muggle-born and you may be a half-blood, but the two of you are still witches. Magic makes everyone equal."

I stared at his forehead. "I understand. But... Dad, if magic makes everyone equal, what about Mom? She's not magic."

Dad studied my face critically. I knew what he would see: a girl of eight with her mother's wavy red hair and her father's bottomless black eyes, the high cheekbones and slightly upturn freckled nose of her mother. I hope he assumed that the expressionless face I often have was hereditary from his side.

"Some people in our world will view her in a... rather negative light," Dad finally spoke after a long pause; he seemed to be carefully gauging my expression and checking his words. "but it wouldn't matter if you love her. To them, she may be nothing but to you, she is as special as you are."

"...I see."

"Lilian..." Dad sounded as if he was being strangled. I looked up. "Your grandmother wishes to see you."

I was baffled. "Grandma Clarisse? _Why_?"

"No, not Clarisse. Don't you remember? I told you before... of my mother, Eileen."

"I – I suppose I forgot," I mumbled.

There was an extremely awkward pause where Dad was at a loss of words and I have no idea what to say either. The silence was broken when the door flung open, nearly hitting Dad in the face (only later would I wonder if this is deliberate), as Mom rushed in. "Lily!" she cried, missing how Dad flinched, throwing her arms around me. "Lily, sweetheart – what _happened_?"

She only noticed Dad when she saw I kept staring at him. Her concerned expression instantly soured into distaste. "Oh, you. What are you doing here?"

Dad recovered rather quickly under the barbing tone. "Just visiting my daughter. Not a crime, I hope? Or am I so _outdated_ with the current world that I had not known fathers need the permission of the mother to visit their child?" His tone implied that they had argued about this before; whether it's his unfashionable choice of clothing (I suppose this is the Muggles' impression of wizarding clothing) or it's whether he was allowed to be an integral part of my life or not.

"Of course it's not wrong," she hissed, voice thick with venom. I guess she absolutely hated him. For reasons beyond me, she didn't seem to hate me as much. No, she didn't hate me at all. Period. "I would think you'd let me have her all to myself since she'll be with you for the rest of the week?"

"I thought I was doing you a favor," Dad snapped. Something's not right here.

Mom's cheeks flushed red. "Just go!"

With another nod of acknowledgement my way, Dad left, his cloak billowing behind him.

**xXx**

Officially, I was on vacation since it ought to raise some suspicion if I just bounce back to school the next day after such severe blood loss.

I had written to Hermione with the promise to tell her everything once I'm back and for her to not worry, I was perfectly fine. In fact, I was doing terrific. There would only be a faint scar and it didn't hurt anymore.

"What's Mom busy with?" I asked as we wove through the throng of Muggles. My hand was gripped loosely in Dad's hand. He said we were going to the Leaky Cauldron, the border of the wizarding world and the Muggle world. I was having a hard time not bouncing or skipping.

This was exciting. This was the part I looked forward to the most: magic. Magic made it so much more worth it, it totally made up for my unsatisfactory – boring – lifestyle as a child again.

"You might just have a proper father, Clarissa, aren't you happy?"

Clarissa is actually my middle name. It's funny; Dad wanted to name me Lilian and Mom wanted my first name to be Clarissa, after her own mother – my maternal grandmother, Clarisse, whom I had only met once and she liked criticizing me so I liked infuriating her too – and they ended up calling me differently than they originally intended to.

I guess Dad didn't like being reminded of his old love, especially not when Mom liked shortening my name to Lily. So he called me by my middle name.

I can't exactly say 'yes' with how bitter his tone was. I could understand; while he never wanted to be a father, he didn't enjoy how he was shaping up to be a dad as good as his own dad, Tobias Snape. I only knew that Tobias Snape was dead from one of Mom's many rants about Dad's many faults – Tobias came into topic when Mom learned that Dad refused to attend his father's funeral.

It would be a complete lie if I said he was a proper father.

And honesty has always been one of my finer points.

"You were never the best dad," I said bluntly, "nevertheless, I'm grateful that I can do extraordinary feats thanks to your blood flowing within me. I might not be that awkward around the step-father as much as it feels around you."

His expression didn't even twitch. "Come," he said instead. "Mother wishes to meet her granddaughter."

**xXx**

Eileen Snape nee Prince was a much nicer grandmother than Clarisse Fiennes nee La Rue was. I totally adored her. If not for her kind and non-criticizing nature, then for the presents she gave me. Storybooks and treats from the wizarding world. She lived in Hogsmeade these days, the only completely non-Muggle village settlement in all of Britain, and worked in Tomes and Scrolls, a library.

Apparently, you can't stand and read in the bookstore.

Since I was most happy when I'm reading, Dad left me to my own devices with Grandma with the promise to not wander too far away.

Grandma was also very useful in convincing Dad. After three days of loitering around in the library where only old witches and wizards visited (bringing treats for me), I was bored.

"...She's bored, Severus... too many books, she wants to see potion being brewed... take her with you... she also wants to spend some time with you..." Grandma went on in this vein for awhile until Dad gave in.

"Remember, you will behave. I want absolute obedience."

"Alright, alright," I mumbled, too excited to feel annoyed as we threaded the worn-path to Hogwarts castle. When I tried to dash past him into Hogwarts first, he snagged my collar and hauled me back.

"What did I say?"

"No running, or something like that." I tried not to scowl; the irritation died when I stepped into Hogwarts castle and I tuned Dad out.

It was grander and larger than I had imagined it to be. The Entrance Hall was so large, it could fit my entire condo in here. The light was cast by real life fairies that giggled and twirled when I went near them. "I want one," I told Dad. He just plucked the container off, ignoring the squealing fairy, and handed it over to me without saying a word. "Can you speak Fairy?" I asked interestedly, knocking the glass container.

"No, but Headmaster Dumbledore can."

I tried to keep my face blank. It felt... weird. To talk about the man your Dad would kill in eight years time. I tried not to think about where I will be, what I will be doing and how safe or welcomed I will be. I turned the container upside down, smirking when the fairy shrieked in fear and surprise.

"Keep that up and you're standing out here."

I glanced up at Dad who had stopped by large double doors. "Where does that lead to?" I asked curiously, even though I was pretty sure of the answer.

"The Great Hall."

And he pushed the doors open.

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